


Memories of Old Experienced Anew

by ncruuk



Series: Behind the Beret - being Bernie [8]
Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8926399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncruuk/pseuds/ncruuk
Summary: Christmas is often a time when new memories are made, but for Bernie and Alex, it is also a time when the wounds of old memories can heal and dreams shared in the heat of a desert can come true.[Part of my 'Behind the Beret - being Bernie' Bernie/Alex series of stories... the original idea for this story was sparked from the scene in 'One Under' (s18, e21) when Bernie congratulated Arthur on his ability to focus on his patient in theatre]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Italics denote flashbacks unless it's a 4 line verse of 'The Sussex Carol'...

It had taken Fletch half the shift to actually ask Bernie what she’d been humming.  She still wasn’t quite sure whether it had taken him so long because she was still just about intimidating enough that he felt he had to pick his moment, or it whether he’d needed that long to work out she was humming the same tune over and over.

 

_ On Christmas night, true Christians sing, _

_ To hear what news the angels bring. _

_ News of great joy, cause of great mirth _

_ Good tidings of the Saviour's birth. _

 

It had taken her the rest of the shift to realise that she knew the words and tune not, like most of the music she could actually hum or even sing, badly, from the Army, but because the old carol had been her father’s favourite, included in every Christmas service she could remember him giving.

 

It was because that memory that saw her still humming it, hours later as Bernie headed for home after a shift that had seemed destined to never end.  Turning into the road she and Alex lived in, Bernie smirked wryly as she thought back over the few months: with the ink on her divorce papers very dry and her marriage vows very broken, Bernie acknowledged she was possibly stretching the definition of ‘true Christians’, although she must surely get some credit for self awareness?

 

Finding a space just along from what was now ‘their’ flat, she wasted little time in parking the car - the Mazda sports car was easier to park than either an Army jeep or a tank.  Glad of her coat, a scrub top offering significantly less warmth than the favourite shirt she’d been wearing earlier in the day, Bernie locked the car and headed for the flat, smiling when she realised that, if she continued to think about the words of the carol she was still humming, she’d just cast Alex as the Angel.

 

However, ‘Alex the Angel’s’ halo slipped almost immediately when Bernie almost tripped over an abandoned pair of boots as she opened the front door and then nearly shut her fingers in the door as she tried not to fall back down the front steps when, in avoiding tripping over the boots, she almost fell over Alex’s pack.  Of course she’d have seen both hazards more clearly if she’d turned on the hall light, but now that Bernie knew where the boots and pack were, she decided not to bother and instead just added her coat and shoes to the heap as she shut and locked the front door.

 

Heading on to the bedroom having not seen any lights on in either the kitchen or the living room, Bernie was rewarded with the sight of said ‘angel’, stretched out on their bed, seemingly fast asleep.

 

Stopping in the bedroom doorway, Bernie leant against the doorframe, her hands in her scrub top pockets, studying the long, lean figure of her sleeping lover with a clinician’s eye.  She took in the sock clad feet that were apparently free from any painful blisters as they were coiled around each other.  Satisfied, her gaze swept further up her lover’s slumbering form, noting the neatly crossed ankles that showed no evidence of strapping or swelling, the long legs relaxed and not obviously marred by gashes or strains, although she’d only be convinced of no aches or grazes once the camouflage print combat dress trousers were removed.  Smiling, she took in the unfastened belt and button at the waist, the extra slack in the waistband allowing the beige t-shirt to have come loose, exposing a thin strip of pale skin that was unblemished by scrape or bruise.  

 

It was tempting to let her gaze linger as she took in the smooth plane of toned stomach, the slight ridge that the tenth ribs created as they met the costal cartilages, and her lover’s breasts, free from the confining force of her bra which was evidently undone so as to not feel the bite of the clasp dig into muscles tense from overwork.  Tempting, but resistable, at least until she had satisfied herself that no damage had been done.  With a discipline few might have had, Bernie took a calming breath and once again returned her gaze to that thin hint of bare stomach, before critically evaluating the smooth bump-free line of toned belly, the thin t-shirt confirming no concealed bandages.  Watching the steady rise and fall of rib cage and breasts, she was relieved to conclude that no bruised or broken ribs lurked beneath the skin and dutifully forced her gaze on… to be met by the amused and awake gaze of Alex.

 

“Hey you…” 

 

“Surprise?” joked Alex, tucking her left hand behind her head so she could more easily look at Bernie, hoping her far too observant lover didn’t notice her wince..

 

“Mmm…” Bernie smirked, non-committally, “good surprise… everything ok?”  Whilst many would just jump straight to celebrating their lover home from a last minute pre-Christmas Exercise a couple of hours early, Bernie had been on too many Exercises, both as the ‘tested’ and ‘testing’ medic to not already have got up to 12 on her list of things that could have gone wrong.

 

“Nothing a night’s sleep on a good mattress won’t fix…” Feeling her neck start to ache again, Alex tried to shift on the bed so that it was possible to look at Bernie without feeling like she was about to get cramp.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible without wincing, a wince that Bernie definitely saw.  “Have I ever told you how glad I am you don’t work much on Keller anymore?”

 

“No…” Bernie distractedly rubbed the back of her neck, wondering why Alex was asking the question, trying to remember what Alex had said she’d be doing on this Exercise, having been drafted in at the last moment when the original instructor had become unavailable.  Was it something that would explain the wince?  “Does it matter? The ward I mean? Either way I’m in theatre most of the time…”  Bernie’s head tilted to the side, resting against the doorframe as she studied Alex, noticing how her ribcage was rising and falling a little faster but a little more shallowly.  Were it not for the stiff way she was holding her head, Bernie would have almost thought that her lover was…“Light blue?  Really?”

 

To Alex’s intense frustration, Bernie stubbornly remained in the doorway, looking down at the light blue scrub top, clearly amused at the discovery that Alex liked her in the colour.  Amused and humming.

 

“Really…” groaned Alex, knowing from past experience that when it came to playful ‘out-stubborning’ games, Bernie could easily best her which meant that in her current state, she stood no chance.  “And you’re humming.”  

 

“How did I not know that?” asked Bernie, somewhat rhetorically, pushing off from the doorframe and crossing the small bedroom to the side of their bed on quiet feet, the thick pile of the carpet muffling what little sound she did make once she’d stopped humming, deciding Alex’s observation was probably not intended as encouragement.

 

“Know what?” hedged Alex, tracking Bernie’s progress to the bed with her eyes, caught between anticipating Bernie getting close enough to kiss and dread that she’d have to move again.

 

“Know that you like me in blue not burgundy?”  Did discovering that Alex appreciated her in a particular colour count as ‘news of great joy’?  Bernie wasn’t sure, although it was certainly a source of mirth for the surgeon.

 

While she waited for Alex’s answer, Bernie sat down on the side of the bed and at the same time distracted the anaesthetist from answering by slipping the fingers of her right hand through the small slit of untucked t-shirt.  Trapping the edge of the t-shirt with her thumb, she ran her palm up her lover’s stomach and over the curve of her ribs, the t-shirt being lifted and bunched up by Alex’s breasts.

 

“Cold!”

 

Alex might not have noticed or reacted to Bernie sitting down on the mattress next to her, but she’d definitely noticed Bernie’s hand, cold against her warm skin, running up her body and coming to rest against her ribs.  Unfortunately, her jerk of surprise was exactly what her tired, aching and bruised body was not ready to do and she groaned the wrong sort of groan as she sank back into the bed.

 

“Al?”  Bernie froze, her hand snatched away from Alex when she’d jerked in surprise was left hovering in mid air, unsure how to proceed, her worries and concerns showing clearly in her face, all thoughts of Christmas Carols and double meanings disappearing from her mind.

 

“It’s ok…” dismissed Alex, closing her eyes and biting her lip as she tried to shift back into a moderately comfortable position.  “I’m ok…”

 

“But…” Tense, caught between reacting as a lover or a doctor, wavering between memories of the past and the emotions of the present, Bernie felt her heart rate increasing and she started to taste the acid of bile and nausea in her mouth.

 

“It’s nothing…” Finally settled, Alex opened her eyes again, momentarily confused by Bernie’s response before she too remembered.  “...really Bern…” despite the discomfort, she reached quickly for her lover’s hand and, rubbing it between her hands to warm it up, she guided it back to rest, under her shirt, against her stomach.  “It’s not like before…” she continued, nearly biting through her lip as she forced protesting shoulders muscles to engage and managed through luck rather than planning to not only land her fingers on the nape of Bernie’s neck, but within range of  _ that _ spot, the spot that saw her, in this moment, relax enough to yield to Alex’s gentle encouragement to lie down with her.  “I promise…” repeated Alex knowing all too clearly the moment she’d accidentally rushed Bernie back to in her memory, “...it’s not like before…” 

* * *

  
_ Habit had made her return to her quarters via her tiny office - little more than an in tray on a desk surrounded by walls, but walls not made of canvas so she was never going to complain.  Paperwork scooped up under her arm, she’d continued to her quarters - rank, gender and skill set seeing her currently in the Bastion equivalent of 4* accommodation, with a two bunk tent exclusively hers.  Nearer the washing station would have been nice apparently, something that she’d been told was a compromise she could refuse to accept, but she hadn’t cared - she had brought little of her own non-uniform clothing to care about hand-washing it, and since she never had a day off she was always showering in the hospital showers.  And if she had to jog to make it to the hospital inside her response time, well, that was fine too: it wasn’t like she was often going to be in her bunk when she was on call - the Mess and her ‘office’ were nearer. _

 

_ Stepping into the tent that was ‘hers’, it was only after she’d fastened shut the entrance flaps that she realised it was already occupied.  Pulling off her beret with one hand, she reached for the torch she’d taken to leaving on the end of the empty bunk.  It wasn’t a very powerful torch, but it was enough to see more clearly inside the tent that was never fully light (because thankfully it had no windows) but was also, thanks to the floodlights that illuminated the various parts of the base that they didn’t want the heavy trucks driving over, never fully dark.  Usually, she used it so that she could see more clearly within the half light without having to navigate the length of the tent to where the 21st century storm lantern, the military’s current solution to an ‘in field’ bedside lamp, sat until after she’d taken off her sand-filled or mud caked boots.   _

 

_ Usually but not this time. _

 

_ Frozen to the spot, she played the torch over the unexpected form of her lover lying on her bed… and forgot all about her boots. _

 

* * *

 

“Bern?” prompted Alex eventually, not wanting to stop teasing and stroking her lover’s neck, still not sure exactly what hell Bernie had put herself through that day, not sure how hellish her lover’s memories still were but unfortunately not sure how much longer her muscles would accomodate her wants either.

 

“Sorry…” Looking up, Bernie caught hold of Alex’s hand, easing it away from her neck so the weary limb could rest as she carefully removed her other hand from beneath her lover’s shirt where clearly it had returned once Alex had settled again.

 

“I’m ok…”

 

“You said that last time…” She’d meant to tease but the memory of that day was still too fresh it seemed and instead her words were more chiding than she’d meant.

 

“And I was right…” Seeing her teasing didn’t generate the hoped for reaction from Bernie, Alex shifted slightly on the mattress so she was less uncomfortable than she had been and caught hold of both her lover’s hands.  Holding them firmly so Bernie couldn’t try to disappear on her, Alex became serious.  “I’m mostly just stiff and tired…Ah!” She looked pointedly at Bernie who’d been about to interrupt her, had started to pull away her hands as if she might be contributing to Alex’s discomfort and exacerbating any injuries.  “I’ve spent the last three days teaching airway management during evac…” she wiggled her shoulders tentatively, “...through what felt like every pothole on Salisbury Plain…”  Alex watched Bernie carefully as her lover absorbed this information, working out what Alex was and wasn’t saying.

 

“Only potholes?” asked the surgeon finally, relaxing slightly.

 

“There were a few ditches…” conceded Alex dryly, knowing Bernie knew all too well what it felt like to bounce around inside a tank or Land Rover, an understanding the reservists and new recruits she’d been working with over the last few days now also had.  “We were doubled up with a casualty evac driving course for some of it.”

 

“Meaning?” asked Bernie, feeling the bands of tension around her ribs easing but not fully disappearing.

 

“I’d forgotten how much fun it is to hang upside down…”

 

“Alex!”  

 

“I’m fine Bern…”  She was, really, apart from some quite impressive bruises from where the straps of her seat restraint had dug in.  And it wasn’t like they had to worry about IEDs or snipers while they awaited rescue.  “Just a few bruises.”  And maybe a ruptured eardrum from when the driver had screamed as they rolled into the sort of big ditch Alex generally prefered to inspect from a bridge the sappers had just put down.

 

“Sure?” Bernie bit her lip as she waited for Alex’s response, torn between wanting to do her own exam and wanting to be told everything was fine.

 

“MO checked me out and I’m fine… didn’t even need to discharge myself as I wasn’t admitted.”

 

“Why did you do that?”

 

“What?”

 

“Discharge yourself when you should have been admitted?  After the…”  Bernie jerked her head about a bit as a substitute for actually saying what she meant.  “You know.”

 

“The convoy IED?  Because…” Alex blew her cheeks out as she thought for a moment, trying to remember what she actually thought rather than what she told herself to tell anyone who asked.  “Because I didn’t think I could cope with seeing you as my CO when all I wanted to do was be hugged by my best friend and…” Alex looked away from Bernie, up to the ceiling for a moment.  “I knew if I signed out I’d be ordered to report to my CO immediately… did I ever tell you?  I was given a lift to your tent to make certain I didn’t try to pretend I was a doctor or something…”

 

* * *

_ “Reporting as ordered Ma’am…” mumbled Alex, turning towards the silhouette she had to presume was Bernie - it certainly looked like her. _

 

_ “Al?” Alex watched sleepily as Bernie dumped the armful of papers she’d been carrying on the other, unmade bunk and moved far quicker than Alex’s still ringing head could cope with to the side of the bed, pulling off and tossing aside her beret as she went.  “What are you doing here?” Alex blinked, trying to help her eyes focus on Bernie’s face as she attempted to work out how she was supposed to answer that question. _

 

_ “Following orders…” She closed her eyes not liking how many Bernies she was seeing,  squeezing her eyes even more tightly shut when she sensed the storm lantern turning on brightly, only for the intensity of the light to ease as Bernie presumably turned it from full brightness back to something more appropriate for the small space. _

 

_ “What orders?”  Alex heard Bernie start to move the files about on the other bed with what was presumably her right hand since she felt the surgeon’s left hand tangle in her own. _

 

_ “Duty MO...can’t remember who…” She opened her eyes again, deciding that she’d rather see too many Bernies than not see any at all.  “I’m ok, considering…”  Considering she’d been in a vehicle that had been blown up by an IED…  considering she’d not thought the driver was going to last until  MERT arrived… “Banged about a bit, nothing serious.”  Actually, now she thought about it, she was only seeing two Bernies and that was due to the angle she’d turned her head to, not a concussion...which was good. _

 

_ “You refused to stay for observation Alex,” chastised Bernie gently as Alex felt a piece of paper come to rest on her stomach, Bernie obviously having found the paperwork that was going to be ‘sent to her Commanding Officer’. _

 

_ “So would you if you knew the Ghost was on the nighttime obs checks…” Alex reached out, trying to catch hold of Bernie’s cheek or neck, “...I’m not concussed…” _

 

_ “Nausea?” _

 

_ “Would you believe me if I said it was air sickness?” Bernie’s smile was enough to tell Alex she was starting to win Bernie over, that through a mixture of clinical and casual clues, she was starting to be convinced that Alex really was, in the grand scheme of things, ‘ok’, or at least ok enough to not need to be in a hospital bed under observation. _

 

_ “Yes.”  Alex felt Bernie pick up her hand from where it had landed on the surgeon’s neck and kissing the palm softly.  “Thousands wouldn’t, but I know what you’re like if you’re not distracted when you fly.  Vision?” _

 

_ “Some, too much actually.”  Alex blinked again, more slowly this time, starting to feel some of the knots in her body relax as she began to believe that everything really was going to be alright.  “I was seeing lots of you.” _

 

_ “Just now?” _

 

_ “Yes…” Alex opened her eyes and looked worriedly at Bernie, “but not before.” _

 

_ “Not surprised…”  Alex relaxed at Bernie’s easy acceptance of her admission, not realising it would be clear to the surgeon from the angle her head was at that her double vision had nothing to do with head trauma.  “Ribs?” _

 

_ “X-ray was clear and I don’t mind breathing.  Expecting to have some nice bruises though.”  Any other day, she’d not allow the subject to be changed until she’d worked out why Bernie wasn’t surprised by her vision admission but she didn’t care as long as Bernie kept holding her hands like that.  Or kissing them.  That was also good. _

 

_ “Can you sit up then?  If I help?”  _

 

_ “Can? Yes. Help? Please.  Want? Not much.”  Alex knew she was being grumpy and not being fair to her lover but she was feeling bruises  starting to form on her bruises. _

 

_ “I know Al…” Alex watched as Bernie put aside the report on her that they’d both forgotten was lying on Alex’s stomach but not before the surgeon finished scanning it.  Clearly satisfied, Bernie shifted position so she was sitting on the side of her bunk, evidently completely serious about helping Alex.  “But I want to see for myself… please?” _

* * *

  
  


“You know…” continued Bernie conversationally, helping Alex sit up without jarring too many bruises simultaneously, “that was the first time I looked at you _ …”  _ Bernie was sure she blushed as she remembered, “...with your top off.”

 

“Really?”  Surprised, Alex tried to work out whether she agreed with Bernie’s assessment as she moved up into a sitting position on the bed, with her legs hanging down over the side.  “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes.”  Feeling rather pleased that her distraction plan had worked and Alex hadn’t noticed the discomfort of moving from lying to sitting too much, Bernie resisted the urge to explain.

 

“But…” Alex frowned, trying to remember what she thought was the ‘first’ time, “...what about the time when...wait.”  She thought some more.  “Really?”

 

“Really.”  Bernie leaned forwards and kissed her confused anaesthetist gently on the lips.  “Completely off I mean, and properly looked,” she clarified, catching her lip as she watched Alex for any reaction.

 

“I remember it was the first time I fell asleep in your arms…” admitted Alex, catching hold of Bernie’s fingers which were starting to fiddle with the folds at the knees of Alex’s uniform trousers.  “Properly in your arms I mean…”  If Alex had wanted to say anything more, it was lost in a yawn.

 

“Come on you…” encouraged Bernie, catching hold of Alex’s t-shirt hem as she stood up.  “Shower and sleep.”

 

“You just want to look at my bruises…” joked Alex, nevertheless liking the idea of the plan and moving her arms accordingly so it was easy for Bernie to lift the shirt over her head for her, catching her lover’s bra at the same time.

 

“Yes.”  Bernie waited until Alex was free of the clothing before deliberately raking her gaze over Alex’s as predicted bruised chest.  “Oh Al…”  With a surgeon’s confidence, she reached out and started gently pressing and feeling her way around Alex’s ribs, avoiding the worst of the bruising with the painstaking care of a lover.

 

“I’m ok Bern…” repeated Alex quietly, closing her eyes and slumping as she relaxed her posture to something a little less upright and a little more comfortable, knowing Bernie wouldn’t let her wobble or fall.  “It’s only bruises…” she added as she felt Bernie’s arms slip around her shoulders, giving her the confidence to let her head fall forwards until it was resting gently against her lover’s stomach, wondering if Bernie would let her have a nap before she did the shower thing.

 

“Not yet Al…” Bernie ran her fingers through Alex’s hair and scratched lightly, smiling when she heard Alex start to hum indistinctly, feeling her try to snuggle more closely against Bernie.  

 

“Comfy…” protested Alex, although even as she spoke her nose was twitching, not entirely liking the scrub shirt.

 

“Shower.”

 

“But I’m comfy…” repeated Alex, suddenly much happier when her latest fidget had resulted in her cheek resting against warm, soft skin rather than light blue fabric which was pretty to look at, but not so nice to lean against.

 

“You’ll get cold,” tried Bernie, forcing herself to think in practical terms in an attempt to distract herself from the feeling of warm breath tickling her stomach and the occasional sloppy kiss.

 

“Nope…” Alex was enjoying what happened to her ‘pillow’ when she licked it especially as it was helping distract her from her aches and bruises.

 

“I know what you’re trying to do…” Bernie tried to sound like she was annoyed, but it was a challenge beyond what she was equal to, and she knew Alex knew it.

 

“‘S’workin’...” Except that Bernie kept moving.  “Stay still…” mumbled Alex, forcing her arms up to hang onto Bernie’s waist, holding her steady although for Bernie, it felt like deadweights had just been dropped onto her hips.

 

“Stand up you.”  Finding some inner resolve from somewhere not anywhere near where Alex’s lips were exploring, Bernie moved her hands from her lover’s hair to under her arms and, with neither warning nor ceremony, hauled the anaesthetist to her feet.  “Dopey.”

 

“Hey…” As predicted, Alex’s reaction was instinctive and saw her swat at Bernie’s shoulder, only to wobble and groan as she was abruptly reminded of her over-taxed muscles again.

 

“Ok?” Not letting go of her lover, Bernie lightly held Alex by the shoulders whilst she waited for her to get her bearings.

 

“Ok.”  Even with her eyes closed, Alex could tell that her lover was frowning and in danger of starting to think about Alex clinically.  “Promise.”  Opening her eyes, she watched as Bernie relaxed again when she saw Alex really was steady on her feet.

 

“Good…” Her hands now free from stabilising duty, Bernie reverently ran one hand through Alex’s hair, lifting the tousled strands away from her face, a face that Bernie had long ago memorised but never tired of looking at as the other slipped down to rest at her waist, fingers sensibly catching hold of the unfastened waistband of Alex’s trousers, just to be safe - today did not need them tumbling back to the horizontal.

 

“Very good…” agreed Alex, mirroring her lover’s movements by threading her fingers through the silky blonde hair that she could never quite decide if it was a little too short or a little too long, delicate fingers tracing the familiar path around the shell of Bernie’s ear, over the occiput and finally pausing to lightly scratch the nape of her neck.

 

“Mmm…”  Bernie’s near moan of contentment was reasonably good confirmation that Alex had found  _ that  _ spot, the spot that she couldn’t give directions to but somehow could always find, the spot that when lightly scratched just  _ so  _ could reduce Bernie to a self-described ‘purring puddle’.  Further confirmation of her accuracy usually came when Bernie’s head dropped forwards to rest on whatever part of Alex was convenient, usually her shoulder or collarbone, although not this time as Bernie clearly had a different idea.  “My turn to spoil you…” she muttered, angling her head so she could replace her fingertips with her lips, not needing to be able to see to follow the hidden contours of muscle and tendon down her lover’s neck and along her clavicle, instinctively knowing to miss the point where seat belt had dug in and left bruises.

 

“Bern…” Fingers tangling in golden hair, Alex wasn’t entirely sure if she was pushing Bernie’s head away so she could kiss her back or pulling her closer, wanting to hold her and love her.

 

“Let me love you…” Bernie looked at Alex, their eyes locking as each woman tried to show the other that her heart was pounding the loudest, was missing the most beats, that she was the one whose need to love the other was the most consuming.

 

“That was supposed to be my line,” sighed Alex, her breath hitching when her nipples grazed against the fabric of Bernie’s shirt.  “I wanted to surprise you.”

 

“I promise you can surprise me after showering and sleeping,” decided Bernie, glancing belatedly at her bedroom window to check the curtains were drawn so that the neighbours weren’t getting a free show.  “I prefer surprises mud free…”

 

“Tell that to the Exercise Commander…” grumbled Alex, looking down at her arm which, as Bernie had spotted, was still covered with some of the mud she’d failed to scrub off back at Base.  “Hot water would have been nice too,” she continued, knowing that she probably still had some mud in her hair now she thought about it, having stepped under the shower and, discovering that her definition of hot water wasn’t the same as whoever was in control of the Base’s boiler system, had proceeded to wash superficially and at speed before grabbing her spare uniform fast.

 

“Go shower then,” prompted Bernie, quickly fastening the button on Alex’s trousers so they didn’t pool in a tangle around her feet as Alex instinctively started heading towards the bathroom, clearly now convinced of the benefit of having a shower.  “I’ll be there in a minute,” she added, seeing the muddy marks on the bed where Alex had been lying and deciding it would be more pleasant for both of them if she quickly changed the covers.

 

“You offering to wash my back?”

 

“Not offering,” teased Bernie, watching Alex’s sleepy and stiff progress towards the bathroom with a mix of concern and amusement, “insisting!”

 

Starting to strip the bed with an efficiency that her instructors at Sandhurst would have been proud of, Bernie found herself humming again, the words sounding loud in her head as she worked.

 

_ Then why should men on earth be so sad, _ __  
_ Since our Redeemer made us glad, _ __  
_ When from our sin he set us free, _ _  
_ __ All for to gain our liberty?

 

She could feel the moisture gathering in her eyes as she was suddenly assaulted with the perfect image of her father, stood in the pulpit on Christmas morning, looking out at his congregation and speaking those words clearly and calmly, asking the parishioners that question.  There had been no condemnation of those that hadn’t been able to sit still through his sermon, who’d shifted and shuffled, like she had, because they didn’t share the belief or understand his conviction.  He’d been a man of passion and faith, who strove to inspire others to rise and tried to support those that were falling without judging, even if he didn’t always understand their choices.  Although it had taken time for him to see that her desire to help and heal was, in her scientific and clinical ways, no different to his, he had seen, and then understood her subsequent choices and decisions...to become a surgeon, to stay in the Army, to marry Marcus…  

 

As she methodically folded the stripped off bedding and dumped it on the floor by the laundry basket, Bernie felt her stomach knot and a lump grow in her throat as she continued to think about the decisions and choices she’d made since her father’s death, wondering what he would have thought about Alex...about her breaking her marriage vows by committing the sin of adultery, about loving a woman… that she’d also ended up very much on the wrong side of the Army rules would have maybe the final sinful icing on the proverbial cake...and yet... Was she naive to think he would have probably liked Alex?  To think that, given time and space to understand, he would have probably come to understand how her love for Alex was a truer, deeper love than she’d ever had for Marcus?  She wouldn’t have begrudged him time to understand, after all, she’d not worked it out for herself all that quickly either.

 

Taking the clean set of bedding from the wardrobe, Bernie sat down on the bed and began to stuff pillows into pillow cases, her movements mechanical as the memory of the moments she’d understood about her love for Alex replaced the memories of her father and filled her mouth with the taste of bile... 

* * *

  
  


_ “Time of death, 2037.” _

 

_ They watched in silent surprise as Major Wolfe stepped back from the operating table and, without saying another word, pulled off her gloves and gown, balled them up and slammed them down into the hamper just inside the door, making the metal lid rattle.  Such was the force with which the surgeon had forced her surgical gown into the bin that the lid was still rattling, the only noise in the suddenly eerily silent operating theatre, when the theatre doors had sealed shut behind her. _

 

 _“That was…” Regretting being the one to break the silence, the young Lieutenant who had been assisting the Major looked around the theatre, looking for anyone who might appear to have an idea as to what exactly that_ _was._

 

_ “What an angry Major Wolfe looks like Lieutenant,” volunteered the senior theatre nurse finally, looking down briefly at her clipboard to check that she had marked down the time the Major had confirmed death, before giving the junior surgeon her full attention. _

 

_ “Really?” He looked from the experienced theatre nurse to the door again, as if expecting the normally cool and calm Major Wolfe to walk back in and carry on as if nothing had just happened.  “I didn’t think that was possible.”  Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he looked back around the theatre, realising that he wasn’t the only one who was still somewhat shocked by the different behaviour to what they were used to from Major Wolfe. _

 

_ “Even the Major is human,” reminded the senior theatre nurse, knowing that their ranks were secondary to their medical experience and she’d been in theatre long before the Lieutenant had started medical school. _

 

_ “Quite.  Shall we continue?” He didn’t need to remind the rest of the theatre staff that they should keep this little interlude quiet as, like the Lieutenant himself, they’d already worked that out for themselves.  They might have no idea why this particular patient’s death had caused such an emotional response from Major Wolfe, and ordinarily they might have started speculating and theorising, but that wasn’t going to happen this time.  This time it was staying private, after all, everyone was allowed to have emotions, it was what made them human… _

 

* * *

  
  


_ Auto-pilot saw Bernie complete her post-op hand wash in the scrub room and then navigate  the artificially bright corridors to get to the surgical locker room.  Thanks to some strange, mocking good fortune, the locker room was deserted.  The same auto-pilot saw her retrieve her uniform and wash things from her locker, get to a shower and complete the necessary ablutions, washing away the sweat of another long day in theatre, of that final operation.   _

 

_ It was only when she was stood, water pounding from the shower head into her upturned face, stinging her cheeks and eyelids that the auto-pilot released her, allowed her emotions to rise to the surface and take control, control that was seized with a scream of fury that was lost in the noises of the shower immediately overhead and the roar of aircraft engines as another plane came or went from the airstrip… not that she noticed - you didn’t, after the first week or so at Bastion, not if you wanted to sleep. _

 

_ Shutting the water off, knowing how precious it was, Bernie stood under the dripping shower head for a moment, her eyes closed as she concentrated on getting her breathing back under control, spitting away the excess water that she’d caught in her mouth during her scream, waiting until she could no longer feel her heart pounding in her chest.  She knew she was concentrating harder than she needed to, was obsessing on exerting control over her respiration in a way that was medically ridiculous and unnecessary, but knowing that only made her focus harder, biting her lip as she sought to control the uncontrollable, sought to push away the fury. _

 

_ Finally, her breathing and heartbeat back to where Major Wolfe expected them to be, Bernie opened her eyes, blinking away the drops of water that she’d tell herself were from the shower but were probably tears.  Surrendering to her inner auto-pilot, Bernie’s collected her shampoo from the shelf, her towel from the hook and stepped out of the shower. _

 

_ He was so young…. Not yet twenty, on his first tour. _

 

_ Auto-pilot saw her return to her uniform, neatly folded on the locker room bench and start to towel herself dry. _

 

_ He was someone’s son, or brother… too young, probably, to be someone’s boyfriend or father. _

 

_ Underwear pulled on. _

 

_ He was a fighter, a scrapper who had overcome all manner of challenges to get to this point in his life… too proud of what he’d overcome to not go further. _

 

_ T-shirt tugged over head. _

 

_ He was a soldier, not much different to many of the other soldiers…. Just another soldier. _

 

_ Trousers stepped into, fastened at the waist. _

 

_ The IED blew up his vehicle… he wasn’t the first in this godforsaken ‘adventure’ that was War. _

 

_ Left sock, left boot. _

 

_ He made it to her table - he’d fought that far. _

 

_ Right sock, right boot. _

 

_ He wouldn’t make it home. _

 

_ Fastening her belt with a snap, she grabbed her hairbrush and methodically brushed and tidied her hair, not caring that it was still wet from the shower, automatically forcing it into a ‘regulation’ hairstyle selected for its compatibility with berets and helmets rather than anything aesthetic.   _

 

_ As the anger built inside of her, Bernie forced herself to finish putting her stuff away in her locker, ready for the next time she’d need it, knowing that to do anything other than stick to the routine would attract attention, attention her uncharacteristically abrupt departure from theatre had no doubt already attracted, attention that she couldn’t have because she couldn’t explain.   _

 

_ Shutting her locker, she squared her shoulders and set off, her body moving with an easy rhythm founded in regulation marches and parade ground drilling, the only apparent point of tension her jaw, clenched tightly as she bit the inside of her lip, the sharp pain giving her something to focus on, something to pin her anger to.  Outwardly calm, she carried on walking, nodding at those she passed - at ease enough to be permitted to pass by unquestioned, tense enough to be not delayed. _

 

_ Major Wolfe was on a mission - to where, for what they did not know. _

 

_ Nor did Major Wolfe. _

 

* * *

 

_ If she didn’t look behind her, she could believe she was alone.  Behind her was the bustle of the Base, the bright white light of the floodlights illuminating the buildings and the heavy machinery that characterised the modern military at war but at rest.  It was too late in the day for the ‘daytime’ activities to be continuing, too early in the evening for the ‘nighttime’ activities to start.  The Base wasn’t quiet - there was never quiet in a Base this big (they’d been promoted to a comparison with Reading now, according to the latest new arrivals) or this busy (Britain’s third busiest airport, so the RAF kept saying, and that wasn’t including the Army’s even busier heliport...not that they were competitive) but the Base was calm, following a well co-ordinated and oiled routine.   _

 

_ And that was the problem. _

 

_ She’d didn’t want calm.  Calm was insulting.  Calm was ‘carrying on’, behaving as if this was ordinary and normal. _

 

_ Leaning her head back against the metal shipping container, the sun-baked metal gently warm through her t-shirt, Bernie looked out into the darkening sky, seeing the stars starting to appear in between the brighter lights of the various aircraft circling around to land across the Base.  Biting her lip, she watched as the stars disappeared again, not because they’d gone but because her night-vision was temporarily disrupted by the brighter lights of a Chinook helicopter banking sharply ahead of her, its red and green lights winking off and on by design whilst its flashing white ‘headlight’ was just an illusion, the light’s flash an optical illusion caused by the black thumping blades of the helicopter rotor blades and the aircraft body. _

 

_ Brood or blow up.  Those were the options her father had given her when she was a child.  If you believe you’ve not done your best, your anger is only going to allow you to brood or blow up.  And then you’re good for nothing and no one.  He’d meant, gentle man of the cloth that he was, to help her see that there was little benefit gained from getting angry for longer than a moment, but the younger Berenice had instead decided that the better course of action was to always do her best.  That way, she never had to cope with anger or failure, never had to decide between brooding or blowing up. _

 

_ It was what had made her the surgeon she was - always focused, always doing her best. _

 

_ Until now. _

 

_ Now, when she was brooding and fighting the urge to blow up.  Which meant she was angry at something? Someone? _

 

_ Herself.  She was angry with herself. _

 

_ Had she done her best? _

 

_ The stars were back, clear and bright now they no longer had to compete against the ‘elephant of the air’, the Chinook having passed by and landed, unloading whatever its precious cargo might be.  Soon, there would be another one, catching her eye, holding her focus, making her fixate on a single point of such intense light it’s all that she can see in a vista rendered otherwise featureless.  But not yet. _

 

_ Had she done her best?   _

 

_ She chuckled bitterly as she considered her self-set exam question.  How was she supposed to frame her response?  She was too experienced a surgeon to confine her assessment to the patient’s outcome - experience had seen her be taught and teach others that some patients could survive the most haphazard or ill-thought-through surgery.  Equally, that same experience told her that they couldn’t all be saved… her experience could save rather more than most but that wasn’t the same as all. _

 

_ Trauma surgery wasn’t like elective general surgery - there was no time to discuss and plan, no time to meet the patient and learn the names of their partners.  Given the scale of the military operations and the nature of the traumas that the ‘contact’ caused, she generally operated on a stranger, a name and rank provided automatically, remembered out of habit, a habit that meant she occasionally had the pleasure of spotting an ex-patient on Parade, recovered with little ill-effect.  She would operate on young and old, military and civilian, allies and enemies - that was what she knew, that was what she did best.  And she did it fast.   _

 

_ In a world where the ‘golden hour’ was key, minutes were precious, seconds were valuable and there wasn’t the luxury of wasting time.  Wasting time was losing your focus; losing your focus wasn’t doing your best. _

 

_ It hadn’t been minutes, had only been seconds, but they’d been seconds when she hadn’t been focused on the patient in front of her, seconds when she hadn’t been assessing the injuries, identifying the problems, planning the surgery, preparing to cut and to stitch.  They’d only been seconds, but they’d been seconds when she hadn’t been doing her best. _

 

_ Swallowing thickly, Bernie watched the stars disappear again as another Chinook started its sweeping approach, remembering those seconds in such vivid technicolour that she felt her stomach churn again and her heart pound.   _

 

_ She remembered the panic and the fear that surged into her when that young soldier was rushed into her theatre; remembered the foul taste of bile and blood that filled her mouth as she looked down at the face she’d first seen smiling as he waited for the medics to finish checking and double checking they’d loaded up the convoy correctly.  She remembered how all she’d been able to ‘see’ in those first few seconds was watching him take his telling off from a sweat-soaked Quartermaster for not lifting the heavy crates of medicines with proper lifting technique with respectful good humour, the lesson clearly quickly learned based on how he lifted the next few crates.  She remembered looking up at him as she signed off his paperwork and asked him what his preferred strategy for dealing with potholes was. _

 

_ She remembered all of this because of what, even now, sitting against this random shipping container, looking out into the dark Afghan sky, she was trying not to remember. _

 

_ She was trying not to remember that she’d only known who he was because she’d volunteered to sign off that particular convoy - they took it in turns, the consultant level medics and she’d already done hers for the month but she’d swapped duty with Franks, something about a surprise birthday phone call to his wife: Workaholic Wolfe she’d once been called.  But that wasn’t why she’d swapped. _

 

_ She was trying not to remember that she’d only known it was his first tour because she’d heard him tell the Quartermaster so - she’d had to hide her smile behind her clipboard when she’d heard him respectfully and sincerely answer ‘Yes Sir’ when asked if this was his first time ‘out of Kansas’, had to choke back her laughter at Q’s double take before he got down to business and quickly taught the lad how to lift the crates into the back of the jeep without injuring himself.  But she hadn’t gone to stand by another vehicle while she waited for the loading to complete. _

 

_ She was trying not to remember that in spite of knowing all this about him she’d failed to do her best. _

 

_ She was trying not to remember that it was because she knew all this about him that she’d failed to do her best by him as a surgeon, even if it was only for a few seconds. _

 

_ And so here she was, sat looking out into the stars once more, brooding in her anger at failing to be her best… _

 

_ Bernie watched as a different speck of light appeared in the sky from a different direction, drawing her eyes away from the stars and to it.  Experience helped her identify it as a ‘drone’, an unmanned aircraft taking to the sky to go do whatever its controller had been ordered to do.  It was a signal, to the enemy that they were watching them but also to Bernie and the Base: nighttime operations had begun.   _

 

_ What did her experience tell her about why she’d failed to do her best? _

 

_ Experience helped her recognise that it wasn’t his passing resemblance to Cameron that had made her notice him, wasn’t him being young enough to be roughly the same age as her son that had made her mind scramble and her focus shatter… this wasn’t the first time she’d seen someone she’d met subsequently appear on her operating table, wasn’t the first time she’d operated on someone with whom a family member had similarities.  _

 

_ Because what she could no longer pretend to forget was that, in those seconds when she’d seen it was him she’d not been seeing any of that.  _

 

_ Alex.  She’d been seeing Alex.  That was where her mind had gone.  Where was Alex? How was Alex?  Were the bastards that had set the IED dead?  Was Alex dead? _

 

_ She’d looked at her patient and seen her lover, her lover who’d grinned at him and told him not to let the Major scare him.  Told him with a wink in her direction that the ‘big bad Wolfe’ was a puppy dog as long as she wasn’t holding a scalpel.  Made him laugh, made her laugh with her jokes that were just the right sort of funny to not upset a rumoured to be humourless Major and relax a nervous Private who was about to drive her outside the wire. _

 

_ She’d failed to be her best… but that implied her best was not remembering Alex, not remembering this soldier, this child, was Captain Dawson’s driver in that convoy she’d watched leave.  That suggested her best was not caring about what happened to her lover, the woman she’d come to realise meant rather more than anything she’d ever felt before... _

 

_ The woman she needed to see…. _

 

_ The woman she prayed was still alive… _

 

_ The Junior Officer she wasn’t allowed to ‘have relations with’… _

 

_ The woman who wasn’t her husband… _

 

_ The woman she loved….was in love with. _

* * *

  
  


“Bern?”  Alex’s call from the bathroom brought her back to the present, back from the desert.  

 

Blinking, Bernie saw that she’d finished making the bed, the pillows plump and the duvet square across the mattress.  Her eyes felt gritty and damp but she didn’t make any attempt to rub the moisture away - that would make her eyes feel worse…

 

“You ok?” Alex’s head appeared in the doorway, her bare shoulder sticking out past the doorframe, clearly about to step into the shower.

 

“Just memories…” dismissed Bernie, pulling off her shirt and tossing it in the general direction of the laundry hamper as she headed to Alex, grateful that she had this second chance, this new life with the woman she loved, the woman she was now able to love.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“What time is it?”  Stretching carefully, not wanting to hit Bernie in the head, Alex blinked as she woke up, surprised to see the room was dark except for the bedside light that was on, providing some light for Bernie to do her paperwork by.

 

“Almost 4…” Bernie put her file on the floor next to her and turned her head so she could look at Alex, “you fell asleep as soon as you lay down.”

 

“Sorry…” Embarrassed, Alex shuffled further round on the bed so that she was effectively stretched out across the width of their bed, her arm propping up her head so she could look at her lover who was sitting on the floor, using the bed as a backrest.  “You’ve not slept?” she asked, judging from the amount of the paperwork piled up next to Bernie that she’d probably spent most of the 5 or so hours that Alex had been asleep working.

 

“Deliberately…” Bernie’s answer was quick and saw her eyes shift away from Alex to her lap where she concentrated on making sure her pen lid was properly clipped in place.  “I’m on nights for the next few days.”  Which, knew Alex, both from working nights herself and seeing Bernie working night shifts in Afghanistan, meant she’d be trying to stay awake for another couple of hours at least if she could. So, while the mystery of the all night paperwork session had been solved, as well as the not sleeping while Alex herself was asleep, it didn’t explain Bernie’s sudden interest in her pen or her apparent reluctance to maintain eye contact with Alex now she was more alert.

 

“Your shirt…” Suddenly remembering the light blue scrub shirt that Bernie had been wearing, Alex realised that she’s overlooked what Bernie wearing it actually meant, which was rather more than just signifying that she’d spent her shift in AAU.  “What happened at work?” she asked gently, tangling her fingers in Bernie’s hair as she started to stroke and scratch teasing patterns on her lover’s neck, not liking the tension she was feeling.

 

“It’s nothing.”  Bernie tried to dismiss Alex’s concern with a weak smile, “just zigged when I should have zagged.”  Although she tried to sound light, the humour didn’t reach her eyes and Alex didn’t need to be her lover to see through her attempted deflection.

 

“Bern…” Alex shifted further round, trying to get closer to Bernie, frustrustrated that her lover’s penchant for sitting on the floor made it harder to scoop her up into a hug.  Not that she thought squeezing the the truth out of Bernie would work - Bernie could be incredibly stoical, prepared to carry all of her own and other people’s burdens on her shoulders if she deemed it necessary.

 

“I’m fine Al.”  Bernie leaned her head back against the mattress, trapping Alex’s fingers against her head and tried to convince her again.  “Nothing’s hurt or broken, you saw for yourself in the shower…”

 

“Don’t do this Bern…” Alex knew she was probably sounding like she was pleading now, but she didn’t care.  She didn’t want Bernie trying to protect her by hurting herself.  That was always Bernie’s first instinct, to protect and shield those she loved, but at too great a cost.  “Not again…”

* * *

  


_It had taken Alex a few moments to realise that she was awake, that the last twelve hours or so had happened and she was in Bernie’s bunk._

 

_“You’re sitting on the floor.”_

 

_“And you’re awake.”  Putting aside her files, Bernie turned her head to look at Alex who, although still looking quite sleepy, was generally looking less dazed and rather more alert.  “How are you feeling?”  As she asked, Bernie turned more fully, her arm coming up and resting on the thin canvas cover of her bunk’s notional ‘mattress’ while she tucked her opposite leg up in front of her.  Momentarily distracted by the sudden burst of pins and needles that the change of position triggered, she was surprised to feel her hand being lifted slightly as Alex tangled their fingers together._

 

_“Better…” Alex concentrated on feeling the increasingly familiar contours of Bernie’s hand, trying not to think about what might have happened to the driver if it had been Bernie’s hands trying to keep him alive until MRT arrived, rather than Alex.  “Sore…” It was more than sore, if she was honest with herself, but it didn’t feel like it was appropriate to be honest.  What right did she have to feel ‘sore’ when she was here, alive, with only a bit of bruising.  “But nothing that won’t heal.”  Her bruises would fade, just as the taste of sand was fading from her mouth and the sound of the explosion was already quieter in her ears, something that hours ago she would have denied believing possible.  Giving herself a little shake as if to keep herself firmly in the present, Alex tried to shift the topic onto something else.  “You’re awake,” she repeated, trying to glare at Bernie although, given her sprawled position on the narrow bunk, she only really succeeded in making herself cross eyed._

 

_“Not tired.”  As she spoke, Bernie realised the mistake she’d made in telling the truth - there was every reason why she should be tired, and to admit as much was to lay herself open to questioning.  “Worried for you,” she tried, smiling as she leaned forwards and rubbed her chin on Alex’s knuckles, as if needing to indicate who exactly she had meant by ‘you’ before pressing a kiss to their tangled fingers._

 

_“But you didn’t know I was here…” Alex had been too out of it earlier to question why Bernie was surprised to see her in her tent but not surprised by her battered state, but now, with a few hours of sleep making it possible to feel like she was thinking clearly, Alex was starting to notice some things.  “You’ve been in surgery all shift…” Alex closed her eyes for a moment, trying to remember the lifetime ago when they’d been trading jokes in the bright sunshine, Alex teasing Bernie about ‘cheating’ on her with another anaesthetist, prompting Bernie to start reciting the list of surgeons who’d Alex had been in theatre with, much to the amusement of the driver… “You were in theatre…” She hadn’t, had she?  No… Alex bit her lip as she considered what she could remember of those minutes after the explosion when she’d been working as fast as she could to do something, anything, everything she could think of with what they had around them while she waited for the evac team.  But he was too far gone surely, there was no way he could have ended up stable enough to go into theatre… was there?_

 

_“Mmm, busy shift,” agreed Bernie, trying to dodge what was going to be Alex’s inevitable question for as long as possible.  “Lots of patients,” she added, trying to remember who else she’d operated on, what procedures she’d completed, whose paperwork she’d just completed but she couldn’t.  She couldn’t see further back in her shift than her final patient, couldn’t remember any sound other than the flat monotone of the heart monitor when they’d run out of options, couldn’t recall any injuries other than his.  She looked away from Alex, hoping that she hadn’t seen the shame and guilt she felt for failing that young man, for letting his life end because she was distracted, unable to give him her best because she was selfishly worried about someone she knew better than him, someone she’d ultimately miss more keenly if they were absent from her life than him._

 

_“Bern…”  Bernie could tell from Alex’s voice that she knew, could imagine all too clearly the look of disappointment that she’d have when Bernie’s failure was confirmed._

 

_“But then they’re all busy…” Reaching for the next file from her pile, Bernie tried to stick to the script, maintain the illusion that she was what she was expected to be, the no-nonsense Major, the unsentimental surgeon who was good and fast, because she was focussed… She tried to pull her hand away from Alex’s so she could start on the next file.  “Mustn’t get behind on the paperwork…”_

 

_“Stop.”  Frustrated that she couldn’t easily get down onto the floor next to Bernie, Alex managed to curl up into enough of a ball that she could spin around so her head was nearer to Bernie and she was able to wrap the surgeon into a sort of tight squeezing sort of hug.  It wasn’t really enough to make Bernie release some of the tension Alex could feel, but it did disrupt her attempt at continuing her paperwork.  “Please?” She felt Bernie’s posture shift slightly as, still taut with a tension Alex didn’t entirely understand yet, the surgeon did at least close the file she’d just opened and return it to the stack next to her, although she didn’t turn back towards Alex, but stayed staring at some invisible point on the far side of the tent.  “He didn’t make it…the driver.”_

 

_“No, there was too much...” What did she say usually?  That the injuries were too severe? Too extensive?  Those well intentioned words felt even blander and emptier than they normally did, vague platitudes designed to provide comfort in place of hope.  But what could she say instead? That she’d wasted time panicking? That she’d been no better use to him than a civilian medical student with no stomach for trauma?  That she’d failed him?_

 

_“It was good of MERT to try though…”_

 

_“What?”  Confused, Bernie threw off Alex’s hold and spun round so she was kneeling, looking at her.  “What do you mean?”  She could feel herself getting angry, but she was also feeling confused by the anger.  What was she angry about?_

 

_Alex hadn’t really registered that she’d spoken aloud until Bernie’s reaction, at which point she felt a cold weight drop through the floor of her stomach as she realised that he’d been stronger than she’d feared, lasted longer than she’d hoped but still the enemy had won, although not in blown to bits Land Rover, nor in the dust at the roadside as they waited for MERT.  “He made it to theatre?”_

 

_“Yes.”_

 

_“I didn’t know.”  Alex carefully sat up, somehow managing to contort herself so she neither upset the camp bed nor kicked Bernie in the head.  Scrubbing her hair with her hands, trying to sort her fragmented memories, she wondered why she’d missed seeing the guilt Bernie was carrying earlier when it was so plain to see now.  “Your theatre?”  Stupid question really, though Alex as she spoke, of course it would have been Bernie’s theatre.  Where else would they send the patient that Alex hadn’t expected to survive the immediate aftermath; that MERT hadn’t expected to survive the helicopter flight?  “So you knew?”_

 

_“Knew that you’d been blown up by an IED?”_

 

_“Knew that I was alright.”_

 

_“No.”_

* * *

 

“Oh Bern…”  Alex let her fingers, still trapped between Bernie’s head and the edge of the mattress, wiggle and shift until she was fairly confident she was starting to sketch random patterns over the top of Bernie’s neck while trying to work out what she could say that would get Bernie off the floor and ultimately into bed.  “Did you come straight in here when you got in from shift?”

 

“Hmm?”  Confused by the question, Bernie lifted her head up from the edge of the bed and turned so she could look more clearly at Alex.  “Here the flat?”  She frowned, trying to remember what she’d done when she’d left Holby at the end of her shift.  “Stopped for petrol, but yes.”

 

“Here the bedroom,” corrected Alex, although it was always good to know that the car had plenty of petrol in it.  And that Bernie had probably therefore eaten a chocolate bar as well, being spectacularly incapable of resisting the display of chocolate at the till.  It wasn’t supper, but it was better than just the peppermint Alex had already automatically noticed when they’d kissed.  “Did you go in the living room?”

 

“No…”  Bernie had to duck to stop being kicked in the head by Alex who, seemingly filled with a sudden burst of energy, was sitting up and swinging her legs down onto the floor.  “Was I supposed to?”  It wasn’t a large flat, with few options as to where to go within it but, having seen Alex’s pack dumped in the hall and knowing what her routine was at the end of her reserve weekends, she’d headed straight for the bedroom.

 

“Not really…”  Sat up on the side on the bed next to Bernie, Alex gave her a gentle shove in the shoulder, “come on…”  

 

“To the living room?”  Tempted to reach out and test Alex’s forehead to see if she was running a temperature, Bernie obediently got to her feet, knowing that the quickest way to get Alex to go back to bed would be to go along with whatever it was she wanted to show her.  “You redecorated or something?” she joked, allowing herself to be tugged along the short hallway to the living room door.

 

“Or something.  Shut your eyes?” requested Alex, biting her lip as she nervously waited for Bernie to close her eyes, trying not to doubt herself suddenly.

 

“Okay…” Amused, but prepared to play along, Bernie shut her eyes.  “Now what?”

 

“Now…” Alex sounded further away, and lower down, like she was bending over guessed Bernie, “Umph...ow…”  Alex’s groans confirmed Bernie’s guess she decided - Alex was definitely bending over and feeling her bruised ribs and strained back muscles.  “Okay.”

 

“Okay?”  Still stood in the doorway, eyes shut, Bernie waited for her next instruction.

 

“Okay you can open your eyes and come in,” said Alex, catching her lower lip in her teeth and not noticing her right foot drifting across and resting on top of her left foot in a display of nervousness she’d almost completely trained out of herself when she’d joined the Army.

 

Bernie’s sock clad feet made no discernable sound as she walked into the living room, the inward opening door initially obstructing her view of Alex who was only just visible in the otherwise dark room as the Christmas tree lights were behind her, casting her into shadow.

 

Wait.  Christmas tree lights?

 

“Is that a Christmas tree?”

 

“Yes.”  It was further proof of Alex’s nervousness that she answered Bernie’s rather obvious question literally and didn’t make some sort of joke.

 

“It’s…”  Bernie stopped next to Alex and, eyes still focussed on the tree, blindly reached out to pull her girlfriend into a one armed embrace.  “Exactly as we talked about,” she said finally, turning away from the little tree that was covered in white lights and looking at Alex, the little lights enabling Alex to see the moisture gathering in Bernie’s eyes.

 

“Even got a red pot…” agreed Alex, wrapping her arms round Bernie’s waist, her own eyes watering as she remembered sitting up and talking about anything and nothing, listening to the sounds of war, falling in love with Bernie.

 

“You did this?  Today?”

 

“Yes, well, yesterday...I saw it on my walk home from the station.”  Alex chuckled as she remembered stopping at the grocer’s stall in the market and studying the small selection of real trees they had in a variety of pots.  “Must have looked a sight, carrying it along the road with my kit.”

 

“Macho Army Medic…” teased Bernie, lifting a strand of hair away from Alex’s eye and tucking it behind her ear.  “So that’s how you did your back?”

 

“That’s not how I did my back, I’d already done my back,” corrected Alex, not really caring for a lecture from Bernie about over-exerting herself when already overtaxed.  “But that’s not the point Bern…”

 

“Sorry.”  Bernie’s face contorted into a comical pout that had Alex trying not to laugh.  “It’s wonderful…”

 

“There aren’t any decorations on it…”

 

“There don’t need to be.”  Bernie looked back at the tree, smiling and remembering.  “It’s perfect as it is.”

 

“Happy Christmas Bern…”  Alex slipped her arm inside Bernie’s t-shirt, her fingers seeking out the soft warm skin of Bernie’s hip as her head, which was still protesting rather loudly from when she’d bent down to turn on the tree lights, rested on the surgeon’s shoulder.

 

“Happy Christmas Al…” Turning, Bernie carefully supported Alex’s head with her hand as she sought out lips to gently kiss, knowing that the loving thing to do was take Alex back to bed and for them to both get some sleep.  “Thank you…”

 

“What for?”  Sleepily, Alex let her head be guided by Bernie to rest back on a convenient shoulder.  “Jus’ some lights ‘n a tree…”

 

“And Santa’s just some old guy in a red suit,” agreed Bernie, starting to steer Alex back to bed, knowing it was time they both got some sleep.

 

“Nope…”  Alex lurched slightly when Bernie let go of her in order to turn off the tree lights, only to right herself with the help of the doorframe.  “Santa’s mag’c.”

 

“And so are you.”

 

Lights off, Bernie reclaimed her hold of Alex and gently steered her sleepy lover back to bed, this time ignoring the paperwork and getting into bed with her.

 

“Happy Christmas Al…” she repeated, kissing Alex’s neck just behind her ear as the anaesthetist shifted so she was lying tucked up against Bernie’s front.  “I love you,” she added, thinking Alex was already asleep.

 

“M’ too…”  mumbled Alex, grabbing hold of Bernie’s hand and pulling it round her so their joined hands were tucked up between Alex’s breasts.  “‘N Happy Chr…”

 

She was practically asleep before she could finish, but that didn’t matter.

 

That was what morning was for.

 

 _All out of darkness we have light,_   
_Which made the angels sing this night:_   
_"Glory to God and peace to men,_   
_Now and for evermore, Amen!_

 

Or not.

 

“Bern?”  Alex kept her eyes closed in the hope that this therefore wouldn’t count as ‘being awake’.

 

“Mmm?”

 

“Stop humming ‘n’ sleep…”  instructed Alex, sleepily burrowing further into Bernie’s arms, wriggling to get comfortable again.

 

“Sorry.”  To Alex’s surprise, Bernie had actually stopped humming which, much to the anaesthetist’s surprise, was now keeping her awake.

 

“Bern?”

 

“Mmm?”  In contrast to Alex’s increasing wakefulness, Bernie was starting to fall asleep, the warmth of the bedding and Alex helping her to drift off.

 

“You’ve stopped humming…” Alex wasn’t convinced the sudden compliance from Bernie had anything to do with her request - she’d half expected Bernie to start humming Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer instead.

 

“Mmm…” Bernie shifted a bit, moving into a slightly more comfortable position, easing Alex along with her.  “That was the last verse…”

  
In the darkness of their bedroom, Alex lay listening to the rhythm of her lover’s breathing change as Bernie relaxed into sleep.  As lullabies went, it wasn’t an especially hummable one, nor did it have a structure or rhythm that would lend itself to lyrics, but for Alex it was just about perfect.  As she listened to the quiet sounds of Bernie’s breathing, feeling the slight shift as the surgeon’s chest rose and fell against her’s back, Alex felt her eyelids growing heavy and she drifted off to sleep, lulled by her lover, lulled by the sound of love and peace...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


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